


Homecoming

by FullmetalChords



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't seen Hawke in seventy-eight days.</p><p>-</p><p>Inquisition-era f!Handers fic. During "Here Lies the Abyss", Anders lies low in the Hinterlands, waiting for Hawke to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic with my custom Hawke, Natalie or "Nat", in mind. She's a rogue with a charming/sarcastic personality (which she uses to fight off unpleasant emotions bc I love angst). You can see what she looks like in Inquisition [here](http://36.media.tumblr.com/d210b81a155c647da77c77c7626b90dd/tumblr_inline_ntym844dF01qdhkib_500.jpg), if you're curious. 
> 
> Basically, while playing through this series for the first time, I keep writing fics as catharsis to deal with dramatic moments or terrible writing decisions. This is the first one I'm daring to cross-post from Tumblr to AO3, though.

The healer’s tent hovered at the edge of the refugee camp in the Hinterlands – not hidden in a cave like other apostates, but just far enough out of the way that he could run at the first sign of trouble from the Inquisition. It was a good system, one that benefited the huddle of refugees as well as the infamous apostate (though few here, if any, knew of his role in the current conflict). Anders healed the people who came to him, exchanging his services for their silence, gratified enough just to see that he’d helped ease someone’s pain in the midst of these awful wars.

This operation wasn’t quite as grand as the cause of mage freedom he’d been devoted to all these years – not that the mage rebellion was particularly centralized anymore, with the mages’ former leadership more or less in the pocket of the Inquisition. But helping people in this small camp… it may not have changed the world, but it was still enough to keep Justice relatively calm, for the moment. Which was good, because Anders needed all the help he could get to keep his mind off his current solitude.

He hadn’t seen Hawke in seventy-eight days.

She’d left early one morning, kissing him goodbye desperately, both of them promising they’d meet again while they both knew how impossible it would be to keep that promise. Anders could be turned over to the Chantry in her absence. He might starve along with the people he was helping. He might have to leave in a hurry, as they’d had to do so often, and not be able to leave word for her where he’d gone. And Hawke, fighting Corypheus without him… she might… might…

Anders took a deep breath, trying to focus his mind away from Hawke and back to his current patient, a pregnant woman in his tent for a checkup. It was… hard, to be without Hawke, hard enough that he was grateful for the constant distraction of the overcrowded, understaffed camp. These past seven years, he’d grown so used to having Hawke by his side that even having her gone for a few months, even with her promise to come back, was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Even with Justice inside him, and Hawke’s Mabari, Galeforce, left with him, he still felt Nat’s absence all too keenly, a hole in his heart that only she could patch. 

And that wasn’t his only concern: he’d also heard, for the first time, the Calling. A sick song echoing from inside the earth, a chorus of tortured cries beckoning him toward them, urging Anders to join them. It had certainly caused more than its fair share of panic; Anders had hated closed spaces ever since the Circle, and the thought of going into the Deep Roads again… dying down there, alone, not having said goodbye to Nat…

He hadn’t been able to bear it. Anders had spent the first few days sleepless, fighting back screams, the inside of his closed tent lit up in lyrium blue as Justice flared protectively inside him, his spirit shielding him from the worst of the effects. Some days he’d been able to live with it, go about his business… but there had been too many days he’d sequestered himself away, feeling his spirit raise a shield around him as he curled up around Galeforce, trying to remember how to breathe, urging himself to pull it together just long enough for Hawke to find her way back to him. 

And then, after nearly a month of that hell… the Calling had stopped. He hadn’t even known that could happen. Anders wondered if that, too, was due to Justice’s influence; but even after all these years, he had no way to speak directly with the spirit inside him to find out for sure. All these years, the only constant in his relationship with Justice was the reassurance that it had Anders’s best interests in mind, even if the spirit wasn’t always kind in its methods.

He sighed inwardly, tucking away the last of his herbs as his patient thanked him profusely, tottering out of his tent with her hand rubbing soothingly over her swollen belly. Anders rebuckled his coat and emerged from the tent with his kit, lost in thoughts about his patient and her child. Both his patients were healthy enough, for the circumstances, but Colette would be giving birth soon. That was a dangerous venture in the best of times, but in a refugee camp, caught between two wars, with winter on the way? He couldn’t say he envied the woman. He’d have to do everything he could to make sure she and the baby made it through all right.

Something cold nudged his hand, and Anders looked down to see Galeforce’s jaw clamped around his sleeve, pulling him in the direction of the camp’s mess area. Anders let the smallest of smiles through as he remembered the morning Hawke had left – the way she’d sternly gotten on her knees before the dog, telling him to make sure, in her absence, that Anders was eating and sleeping properly. And he couldn’t deny that it was good to have the hound looking out for him; it was too easy, otherwise, for Anders to get wrapped up in his work, or simply forget to take care of himself. He reached down to scratch behind Galeforce’s ears, idly wondering if they were serving anything other than ram stew today… when he froze. 

Just for a moment, on the crest of a hill a few leagues away, Anders swore he had seen a flash of silver. The sun, reflecting off some stranger’s armor or weapons. No one in the camp bothered to carry such a thing, and the Inquisition’s agents wore leather. He straightened up, heart pounding in his chest, that old fear flooding him as sharply as it did every time. Was it the Inquisition’s army or the Templars coming for him this time? How quickly would he be able to pack his things?

But the light flashed again – two, three, four times, a jovial wink from the distant hillside, and Anders’s eyes went wide. That was no enemy helmet catching the light as they came to drag him away. It was… familiar. A signal, meant for him, and before he realized what was happening his feet had begun to carry him toward the place where he’d seen the light, Galeforce barking behind him.

Anders’s mind was racing as his legs pumped furiously. That last letter he’d received from Hawke… just a scrap left in their usual drop site, a hasty scrawl that she was heading to Adamant… Anders was familiar with the Warden fortress, though he’d never been there. It was _weeks_ from here, he hadn’t expected her back so soon… and yet…

A stitch was growing in Anders’s side the longer he ran, his breath coming in short gasps, but he didn’t take a moment to stretch it out, not when he was so close and the light was still flickering for him, drawing him in like a moth to flame…

He crested the top of the hill and finally saw her. Hawke was holding one of her daggers over her head, flicking the blade between her hands to make it reflect the sun, and as soon as she saw him she grinned, tucking the weapon back in her belt.

“Wasn’t sure when you’d see me,” she said, bounding across the clearing to reach him. The smile on her face was almost as blinding as the light that had gleamed off her dagger. “My arms were starting to get tired.”

“I…” Anders wheezed. He needed to stop and catch his breath after running all the way here, but he needed her more, so he took exhausted, staggered steps in her direction. “Next time, signal me from somewhere closer.”

She met him first, and he all but collapsed against her, heedless of the various sharp objects she still had attached to her person. Her fingers dug into his back, pulling him close, and he curled into her embrace, legs almost collapsing under him as he tucked his face into her neck. She smelled of wood smoke and rain, no doubt from the journey, but also that lingering, indefinable scent that was all Hawke. Hawke… his Nat… she was _here_. She was truly here, back in his arms, in one piece, just like she’d promised him.

Tears sprang to his eyes inadvertently. All his weeks of worrying about her, lying awake at night praying to his absent god to return Nat to him… Those nights still felt real, but his worries felt so distant now, with her in his arms.

“Maker,” he whimpered, relinquishing his hold for just a moment so he could look at her. There was a new mark on her cheek, a shallow knife cut that looked a few days old, and the pack on her back looked heavier than the one she had left with. But her eyes were the same, grey and dancing, her grin making them crinkle at the corners as she looked at him the same way she always had: like he was someone precious, someone worth giving her life for. He ran careful healer’s fingers along the new cut, making sure it was healing properly, just as Nat reached up to caress his face, wiping away the relieved tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes.

“You missed a spot shaving,” Hawke said softly, a gentle chide as she trailed one fingertip down to the cleft of his chin, just below his lip. “Just there.”

It was so… so irreverent, so delightfully _Hawke_ , that this was the first thing she would say to him after over a month of being away, and Anders laughed breathlessly, bowing until his forehead pressed against hers.

“Oh, I missed you,” he murmured before pressing his mouth against hers in a fierce kiss. Nat’s reaction was almost immediate, her teeth sinking into Anders’s lower lip as she pulled him even closer. He needed this, the primal-ness and heat of her, something he’d been without for all this time she’d been away. There was a desperation in this kiss, felt by both of them, a hurried need to reconnect and make up for lost time, to erase those awful weeks when they’d both been alone.

“I never should have left you,” Nat gasped when they finally separated for air, her hands tangled in his hair. “Fucking…” She kissed him again. “…Inquisition. Fucking Corypheus.”

“Fuck Corypheus,” Anders sighed in agreement, feeling her lips trail along his jawline. Hawke was nipping at his flesh like she was determined to taste all of him, and a shudder went through his whole body as he moaned.

“I’d _much_ rather fuck you,” he felt Nat say against his neck with a hint of petulance, and he chuckled again, nudging her gently until he had her pressed against one of the trees surrounding them.

“Yeah?” Anders murmured, pressing closer so his nose nuzzled against hers, one thigh pressing teasingly between her legs. She felt thinner than he remembered; then again, she might be thinking the same about him. “You would have me here, in the open, and not back in our tent?” He felt Nat tilt her mouth to kiss him again, and he inched just far away enough to tease her, grinning. “Where _anyone_ could come across us?”

“I want you everywhere,” she gasped, her hands tangled in the fastenings of his coat, her hips angling toward his. “ _Anders_ …”

His name only passed her lips in a whisper, these days. It was no longer safe for them to be “Anders” or “Hawke,” not so long as someone was around to hear them. Hearing her say it aloud, knowing her love for him outweighed her fear of discovery… It made Anders lean in again to kiss her, deeply, his tongue sliding between her lips as her hands fumbled with the fastening of his loose trousers.

“Love,” he whispered, peppering her lips with firm kisses in between each word, “don’t ever leave,” but the rest of his speech died in his throat with a gasp as her hand slipped inside his smalls, wrapping around his cock with a practiced motion.

“No,” Nat agreed, her words brushing his lips as she stroked him to full hardness. “Never again.”

It was almost funny, how quickly he’d gone from missing Hawke to fucking her, but there was no time to sit back and marvel at the situation. Within seconds, Anders had removed Hawke’s weapon belt, letting it drop to the ground along with her trousers and smalls. He reached between her thighs, fingers meeting the wet heat he knew so well, and she groaned impatiently into his mouth, wrapping both her legs around his waist.

“Please,” she gasped, hands gripping either side of his head tightly, like she was afraid he would disappear if she let go. Their foreheads pressed together again, and just like that, Anders’s world had shrunk to her circumference, to pleading gray eyes peering through coppery hair. “ _Anders_. I need you.”

The want in her voice was nearly as intoxicating as the feel of her body.

“I’m here,” Anders said, easing the fastening on his trousers open with one hand as he held her up with the other. “I’ve got you.” 

His “I love you” went unsaid, but it felt unnecessary as he entered her, his hips moving harder and faster than usual. There would be time later, to cherish each other and relearn each other’s bodies, to take their time. Now, his hands tightening on her waist, her hips driving down to take in more of him, their greedy moans echoing around the clearing… this was raw, frantic, an attempt to reclaim everything they’d been forced to sacrifice these past few months. This was a reminder to themselves, to each other, that nothing, not the Inquisition, not the war, not the end of the world, could keep them from being together.

He came too quickly, face burning as he jerked inside her, and Hawke wasn’t far behind, her fingers curling around his as he reached between them to bring her off. They sank to the earth together, slumped against the base of the tree they’d now thoroughly defiled. 

Anders clung to every inch of Nat he could reach. He could feel every breath she took, foreheads still pressed together with their eyes closed. Could feel her bare legs tangled with his, her trousers wadded up beneath them. Could feel her hand, snuck beneath the hem of his tunic, tracing the sweat on his back.

“I missed you so much,” he heard her whisper, a hitch in her voice, and he pulled her that much closer, opening his eyes and pressing warm kisses to her cheeks.

“There’s a solution to that,” Anders said softly, and she blinked reddened eyes open to look at him. “Next time some shady multinational organization calls you away, I’ll just have to go with you.”

He was trying to make her smile, but instead her face crumpled a little, reaching down to lace her fingers with his.

“I was… in the Fade,” she began, and Anders felt his own smile drop from his face. “Not like with Feynriel, but… actually _there_. There was… a Nightmare demon. They wanted me to fight it…”

“Love,” Anders said, worried, but she shook her head.

“They asked me to,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Wanted me to stay behind, let the Inquisitor get away.” Nat shook her head, closing her eyes tightly. “And I wouldn’t do it.” 

“Maker’s breath,” Anders swore, pulling her close to him. His mind was reeling – people physically walking into the Fade again? A Nightmare demon? But all the questions he had stayed on his tongue, in the face of Hawke’s unusual vulnerability. Moments where she honestly expressed herself – no bravado, no jokes – were so unusual, even with him, that he was unwilling to stop her.

“I had to come back to you,” Nat said fiercely, pulling away to look him in the eye, even though her own eyes were leaking. “I _had_ to. And now Stroud is dead, because I wouldn’t play their game.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, not sure what else he could say. He hadn’t known Stroud well, but he’d been a friend, an ally, to them both. And now he was lost for good, all for wanting to help the Wardens. 

Nat sniffled, leaning in to press a kiss to Anders’s mouth. “He didn’t regret it,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “In the end. I don’t think so. I just… hate it.”

“I do too,” Anders said, stroking her hair as she leaned against him. “I hate that you had to go through it alone.” He let out a slow breath. “Maker.” If he’d known that that’s what Hawke would have to do, to help the Inquisition fight Corypheus… he never would have let her go alone. Damn the consequences to himself. He would have willingly walked himself into that trap if it meant protecting Hawke from their designs. 

What did it matter what happened to him, if Hawke had been in danger?

“Oh,” Hawke said, clearing her throat and straightening up, a hint of her old self shining through. “I didn’t tell you the best part. After _all that,_ they tried to recruit me as a glorified messenger.”

“You’re joking,” he said flatly. “That’s…” He paused, noticing fully for the first time what she was wearing. The green cowl hanging from her shoulders, silverite badge with the Inquisition’s eye proudly displayed on her breast. “You’re an agent for them now?” he said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice.

“Huh? Oh, no.” Nat looked with equal disdain on her own garb. “Stole this from their stores and threw it on so I could get back here without being bothered. Got one for you, too. Figured it’d make a nice disguise.”

“I’d sooner go about naked,” Anders said flatly.

She snorted, nestling closer to him. “I wouldn’t complain. But no, that’s not what I meant. Back at Adamant, they told me to go to Weisshaupt, warn the other Wardens about Corypheus, since Stroud wasn’t around to do it anymore.”

“Weisshaupt?” Anders paused, trying to do a quick calculation in his head. It was _months_ from here, and yet she…

“Wait,” he said, shaking his head. “You said you came from Adamant?” She nodded, and he just blinked with surprise. Weisshaupt was far north from Adamant, and the Hinterlands was at least that far to the east. “Love, you’ve gone the wrong way.”

“The Void I did,” she said, slinging one of her arms around his waist. “They weren’t going to keep me away from you any longer than they already had.”

Anders felt warm at her words, pulling her close to kiss her again. “I do love it when you disobey authority,” he said, grinning against her mouth. “But what about the Wardens?”

“I sent a letter,” she said, her hands weaving their way into his hair again. “Leliana’s ravens, and three of her best agents not far behind. The Wardens don’t need the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“This Warden does,” Anders murmured, pressing another long kiss to her mouth. Maker, he’d nearly forgotten what Nat tasted like. How much longer could he have survived without her?

“Mmm,” she sighed, smiling against his mouth. “I did miss you. Did I mention?”

“I missed _you_ ,” he said, still feeling the weight of her absence, but able to push past it and smile back, with her in his arms. “So, you’re staying?”

“Only if you are.”

“I’ll go anywhere you do,” Anders said, nuzzling her nose with his.

Nothing in their life was certain. They would always be on the run, looking over their shoulders, uprooting themselves and moving from place to place, because of what he’d done. 

But as long as Hawke was by his side, Anders could handle anything.


End file.
